


Consign me not to darkness

by lapoesieestdanslarue



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, It's an Apollo/Icarus au!, M/M, this is pretty much just an excuse for me to write sad flower-y prose tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9893207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/pseuds/lapoesieestdanslarue
Summary: This all starts with a legend.(If we’re being accurate, it’s a love story that becomes a legend.)That is to say, a truth that became a lie.It’s true that a boy with blonde hair loved the sun so much that he flew too close to it, just for a chance to touch-It is true. It's just not what you'd expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge huge thanks to both @achellies and @grantairelibere for beta-ing for me! 
> 
> Warnings for major character death (obviously) and blink-and-you-miss-it attempted suicide.

Time passes everyone by, but it seems to stretch into one liminal space for Grantaire. He watches as empires rise and fall, wars are waged and lost, life is born and death takes. Humans come and go; he watches with a grim amusement as his story- his one real claim to fame- is twisted and disfigured over centuries, and becomes a popular tragedy of a boy who reached for the impossible.

This all starts with a legend. 

(If we’re being accurate, it’s a love story that becomes a legend.)

That is to say, a truth that became a lie.

It’s true that a boy with blonde hair loved the sun so much that he flew too close to it, just for a chance to touch-

And it’s true that he fell. That Grantaire dispelled him into the sea, wings and all. 

It’s true that when he fell, his scream pierced the world and the crack of his bones was the sound of the earth snapping in two. It’s true that ever since, the days have been shorter. No longer are the days never ending; the beams of Grantaire’s sunlight flooding the earth without ceasing for a minute. Now, there is night and day and the sun dies and is born again every twenty four hours.

It is true. It’s just not what you’d expect.

~*~

Enjolras is a man with sun kissed skin and golden hair. Ambition exudes from him in waves that drown all in its wake, and his bright blue eyes are flooded with naivety. Grantaire has loved him since the day he was born. 

Well, not _exactly_ , but when he first caught sight of him, head tipped towards the sky, eyes closed as a gentle breeze rustled his hair and an easy smile spread across his face, it felt as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

He had been lonely, the past few centuries, in truth. He and Eponine were close, always, but they so rarely saw each other- what with him ruling the sun and her minding the hunt, so they only see each other intermittently. Lovers came and went and came and went and they all blur into the one at this point. Nice as they were, they had no long lasting effect, and he knew that they just wanted the joy of telling their friends that they touched the sun, felt his warmth and basked in his glory. 

(It never goes like that. And they’re always so surprised when they see him-- not blonde, but dark haired. Not tanned, but pale as snow. Not traditionally beautiful, but with a nose that has ‘character’.)

His laughter is the first happy sound Grantaire has heard in a long time. It’s beautiful, it calls out to him and drags him from the cage he had locked himself in. 

When he sees him in his sun tanned glory, standing there thoughtlessly without a care in the world and looking so helplessly gorgeous, he wonders why it has taken him this long to come out.

He’s just gone.

~*~

Grantaire may be a god, but confident he is _not_. He spends the first few months doing what could be considered gently stalking Enjolras. It’s nothing bad or leery, Grantaire just wants reports on his smiles, on what makes him laugh and what he spends his time doing. Besides, Zeus has done much worse. And not only that, but Grantaire so rarely divulges himself in humane delights (save for the alcohol), so really, who can deny him his one desire?

And oh, Grantaire desires him. He’s kind and smart and passionate, though slightly deranged in his ideals, and he doesn’t remember feeling like this for anyone _ever_.

It’s Eponine that eventually gets him to talk to _him._

(This is widely regarded as horrible decision, and one she will regret for all eternity.)

“Just _talk_ to him, R,” she had argued, arms gesturing wildly. “It’s not like he’ll say no. Who is he to deny a god, much less the god of the sun he cherishes so much?”

“But I don’t want him to want me because I’m a god,” he’d replied. “I want him to want me for _me_.”

“Well, if you’d ever grow a spine, I’m sure you’d get your answer,” Eponine sniffed, arms crossed. 

 

The next day, he bites the bullet. He goes down to earth, to the beach with the cliffs that Enjolras so loves. He sees him at the cliff edge, gazing up at the sun, somewhat reverently, like he always does, and his breath catches in his throat.

(He has existed since the earth itself was born, it was he who watched as the first sparks and rays of light illuminated the earth, and yet he can never remember being struck to the bone in breathless delight.)

When he finally regains some control of his lungs, he calls out: “Ghastly, isn’t it?”

The gold curls are gone from view as the other boy whips around to look at him, and those sky blue eyes are so, so much nicer when they’re trained on you like you’re the only person in the world. 

“Isn’t what?” he asks, his voice impossibly rich, deep and gentle all at once.

Grantaire flashes his eyes up to his light, the sun, once before gesturing vaguely up at it. “That.” Enjolras follows his eyes up and shakes his head. “How can you say that?” he asks. “It fills your day with light, so that you might see the trees and flowers it grows and feel the warmth it provides. You cannot be so blind that you would discount its importance?”

“Oh, of course it’s _important_. I understand its uses just fine. But it’s so… gaudy, would you not agree? The god who made that must be horribly self-centred, wanting everyone to look at it at all times. And yet, it hurts our eyes to look at it. A horrible contradiction.”

He shakes his head again, vehement. “It’s not gaudy, it’s… passionate. It holds our lifesource. It is the centre of all. It must be big and bright so that it may burn for us, and keep us.” Enjolras looks up at the sky with a fondness. “It’s not a contradiction. It provides us with life, and life can be a terrible affliction for some. The weight of all the sorrow in the world would have to hurt some.”

“What’s the point of a constant reminder of the earth’s tragedies?”

“If we did not know sadness, how could we know happiness? How would we know pain without its absence? It’s not specific to sadness it’s… everything. All at once. It’s irreverent, don’t you see? _We_ are not perfect. That--” he says, pointing to it. “Is. That is a God’s representative on earth, and if we were not to know the weight of the troubles he bears for us, how would we know how to thank him?”

Grantaire shakes his head in disbelief. Partially because of Enjolras’s delusional belief in the goodness in the world, and partially because he’s never met a human that has seen past every grandeur Grantaire has ever put up to dispel the humans from him.

“You are a very strange human.”

Enjolras smiles wryly. “And you are a very disillusioned God.”

He’s also never met a human that has so freely spoken around him-- but then again, he’s never met an Enjolras before. He flinches. “I am no god.”

Enjolras turns to face him fully now, but makes no move to come closer. “I went to pray yesterday and offer my sacrifices, and I received a very interesting visit from the Goddess Eponine. I was told to expect a visit from you.”

His jaw ticks and he curses his sister’s name. “I’m… sorry about her. You have no obligation to bend to her wishes or believe whatever she told you-”

“No, no,” Enjolras interrupts. “I have no problem with Eponine. It’s you, Grantaire, I have been meaning to speak with.”

Grantaire swallows, his chest constricting. “So speak.”

He tips his head and his bow lips quirk with that easy smile. If Grantaire had less self-restraint, he would kiss it off of him. “What took you so long?”

~*~

That marks the beginning to their tentative friendship. Grantaire has never had much interaction with humans outside of his godly duties, though he’s fairly certain that all the communication with humans in the world wouldn’t be enough to prepare him for Enjolras. 

He’s fascinated by this beautiful, unique human, which is never good. A god’s involvement almost always leads to catastrophe, to meteorological upset on an epic scale. 

Grantaire gazed at this most perfect boy, and hoped against hope that everything would turn out fine. 

He had lived long enough to grasp the danger of hope.

~*~

They first kiss under a heavy blanket of dark grey clouds. Zeus is in one of his moods yet again, and it’s when their lips touch that Grantaire feels truly like a god, like he is infinite and soaring and powerful. 

Enjolras breaks it first, smiling too much to do anything useful with his mouth (but his smile serves quite well as a pretty picture), and he leans back, hands clamped on either side of Grantaire’s face, laughing and happy and _bright_. 

Grantaire is smiling too, but he doesn’t dare open his mouth to interrupt the symphony that is the peals of laughter that spill from Enjolras’s lips, illuminating his face in way he has never seen before. 

He loves him most like this, Grantaire decides. Young and light and human perfection, all in one.

~*~

They come to know what each other tastes like after hours spent in sunlight. Enjolras tastes like heat, with the sharp tang of salt that made Grantaire’s senses tingle. He tastes like an entire universe at Grantaire’s fingers, and smiled at him the same way, egging him to go on, _explore_.

(Grantaire tastes like everything at once, too much and not enough, like golden ichor and golden bones, the stuff of legends, and it intoxicates Enjolras.)

~*~

“I’m the god Combeferre warned you about, you know,” he says one day as they lay on a patch of grass and gaze up at the sky and the clouds that pass lazily through it. 

“He warns me about all of them,” Enjolras replies offhandedly. “What makes you so special?”

“You don’t know? You’re the one that’s been listening to him.”

“I’ve never been very good at following advice,” he says and rolls over, crossing his arms on Grantaire’s stomach so he can face him. He extends his arms and lazily traces Grantaire’s jawline. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly with a fragile tenderness to his words. 

Grantaire looks at him, his mottled brown ones meeting the infinite depth of Enjolras’s. “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he answers.

~*~

“I will die, one day,” Enjolras says simply, splayed out against Grantaire’s chest and gazing up at him. “Is it nice?”

“Is what nice?”

“The underworld.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been. I never will be.”

He strokes a piece of hair from Enjolras’s face. “The underworld is no place for a sun god.”

Enjolras hums, and the rest goes unspoken. _The underworld is no place for you._

~*~

The realisation comes the day after that particular conversation. Grantaire doesn’t _want_ Enjolras to die. He actively wants against it.

But he can’t, because Enjolras _will_. That’s what humans do, what differentiates them from gods. If Grantaire stops sleeping so well after that revelation, he doesn’t answer Enjolras’s questioning looks. 

~*~

“It must be so lovely,” he muses one day. “To be a God. To touch _that_. What does it feel like?”

Grantaire’s fingers still, stopping their previous work of combing through Enjolras’s hair. “To touch what?”

Enjolras huffs and rolls his eyes. “The _sun_.”

“It’s… nothing, really. It’s hot. I only really pay attention to my chariot, in truth.” 

He clicks his tongue good naturedly, and looks back at the sky. “Still, to be a God. It must be wonderful, to be able to help so many. To have the fate of the world at your whim.”

“My love, it is not as simple as you make it out to be,” he replies. “It’s not for me to decide these matters; that is up to the Fates. You said yourself, the fate of the world is a heavy thing to carry. Until you came along, there was nothing to buoy my spirit, I was drowned in the impossible weight of human futility.”

“But I am human,” he argues. “What will you do when I die? Will you continue you to sit here and do nothing?”

“I do what I can with what I am given. I pull my chariot with the sun at my heels so that you might have your food and warmth and everything beyond is hopeless,” he replied hotly. “The gods are not the saviours you imagine us to be. We are more hopeless and tragic than humans, but at least you would finally be freed of your suffering by death. I’m condemned to this for eternity.”

Enjolras must sense the bitterness in his tone, and attempts to allay it with a sweet kiss. “Forgive me, O highest majesty of all,” he teases, and snickers when Grantaire pushes him away.

“You’re not going to die,” Grantaire says into the space between them, and Enjolras’s eyes soften. 

“Yes, I am-”

“No. Not you.” His soul was too… big, too visceral to be an impermanent thing, it was a fixture, a definitive point in the universe. It had to be. “And if you did, I would join you the next day.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You said yourself the underworld is no place for a sun god.”

“I hear Hades has a lover who is attached to the springtime. Perhaps he’d like a change in tasks.” 

It was said as joke, and when Enjolras laughs it does something to brighten Grantaire’s spirits and take the trouble from his eyes. But still the dark thoughts cloud around his mind, like a storm on the brink of breaking. 

~*~

Later that day, Hades pays him a visit at the cliffs he and Enjolras frequent. 

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asks.

The god of the underworld turns to look at him. “I overheard a conversation today between you and your… human.”

“He is my lover,” Grantaire snaps. “My most beloved.” 

“Apologies,” Hades amends. He looks at Grantaire up and down, regarding him thoughtfully. 

"You'll kill him," Hades says. "You will love him and you won't mean to, but you will. Gods and humans are not made for life together, you know this."

"You're the one that will keep him," Grantaire replies hotly.

"Yes," Hades agrees, an infinite calm in his words. "But it is out of ruinous love for you that he would fall into my arms."

“If you would only grant him immortality we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

Hades shakes his head. “If it worked like that, do you not think I would have done it myself for my loved ones? No, I cannot. I wish I could, but not even human life can be properly tamed by godly whims.”

“There has to be some way,” Grantaire says, desperation tinging his voice. “You don’t understand, he can’t go to the Underworld, he can’t just _end_. You don’t know him, you don’t realise how wrong it would be of him to cease to be. He has so much he could do, if only he could be granted time.” Hades eyes have gone soft looking at Grantaire’s display of emotion, more than he’s ever shown before. “I believe in close to nothing, and hold nothing but my own powers as sacred, but _him_ I believe in fully.”

Still, Hades shakes his head. “Perhaps, in some other lifetime, I might be able to reuse his soul, but for now, there is no cure for his cursed mortality.”

And then he is gone, back to the Underworld. Grantaire is left with the waves crashing beneath the cliffs and a tsunami building behind his eyes.

~*~

“Something is troubling you,” Enjolras observes a few days later. “Tell me what it is.”

“Nothing,” he answers as he takes another bite of his pomegranate. Enjolras frowns but lets it go and looks away, diverting his attention to a flock of birds, flying high in the sky.

“If only I could fly like them,” he whispers. “I would give anything to get close to your sun, to fly with only the wind beneath me and earth a distant dream.”

Grantaire pulls him close, and presses a kiss to his temple. “The sky is no place for a mortal, my love.”

“What, because only Gods should own the rights to the clouds?”

“Gods _do_ own the rights to the clouds, Enjolras. They control them.”

He scowls. “You know what I mean.” 

Grantaire chuckles and pops a fig into his mouth. “Unfortunately, I do. I tell you what, once you learn to fly you can live in the sky all you want.”

Grantaire should have known better-- should have known that Enjolras’s stubborn nature and the wistful smile he shot him were all a recipe for disaster. 

~*~

Eponine visits him one day, as he’s spreading his light to the far corners of the globe.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t you be tending to your huntresses right now?” he asks.

“You have to end it. With the boy, Enjolras,” she says in lieu of greeting, and it shocks Grantaire to his core.

He swallows. “You’re the very one who told me to go for it, if I recall.”

“Yes but not like _this_ , Grantaire,” she snaps. “What are you thinking? A _human_? How exactly do you see this playing out?”

“Oh give it a rest, Eponine,” he bites back, eyes blazing.

“He will drown you. He will bury you under his arms and his kisses and caresses and you will destroy him from the inside out. I can see the bruises you leave on each other’s souls after every kiss. You fill him with promises you can never even hope to fill, but you burn so brightly that you blind him, and all he does is lay at your feet and beg for more. He will cause you a world of pain, Grantaire. And whatever you think you have with him now will never be enough to merit the hurt you will bring on yourself.”

Grantaire doesn’t speak, just focuses on the sky bleeding orange. In the silence, the pair focus on their breathing, the in-and-outs almost in perfect unison. Eponine waits until the lines of tension in his back show no sign of relenting before she leaves him alone.

~*~

Enjolras looks fierce, but his lips are anything but. If his eyes are strong and steadfast, his mouth is easy and pliant, placing kisses across Grantaire’s body like an artist with a brush. 

And with his mouth he would kiss the gaping, open wounds in Grantaire’s soul not as tragedies, or something to be fixed or healed, but cracks to fill his love into. With Enjolras, with his lips on his body, Grantaire feels more absolute than when he first illuminated this forsaken planet. 

“I love you,” Enjolras says that night.

“And I love you,” Grantaire had responded. 

“No, Grantaire. Look at me.”

Grantaire had complied, and looked down to see Enjolras in the crook of his neck gnawing at his lip. “Do you mean it? Regardless?” He shifts so that he can take Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Of course I mean it. Do you not believe me?”

“No, I do, I just.” He lets out a shuddery breath and shakes his head, hiding in Grantaire’s collarbone. He ducks his head down, coaxing Enjolras’s face free with gentle kisses so that he can kiss his worries away.

~*~

The next day, as he rides his chariot to bring about sun rise, he’s distracting by a glorious, exuberant whoop. When he looks down, he see’s Enjolras, soaring beneath him with wings for hands. 

“Enjolras,” He calls, mystified. “What are you doing?”

“Flying!” He yells, laughing maniacally. 

As he gets closer, Grantaire can make out the familiar glint of wax on Enjolras’s skin, gluing feathers into two glorious wings. 

“How did you make that?” he asks, fear prickling beneath his skin. It’s no place for humans to meddle in what is not theirs to mess with-- and a god’s form is no place for a human.

“Combeferre made it. It’s genius, is it not?”

“It is. But Enjolras, you have to go now. You can’t be here, Zeus will have my head if he finds out I’ve allowed a mortal into a god’s realm.”

“Just five more minutes!” He rolled onto his back as his body shook with boisterous giggles. Grantaire couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked in the afternoon light, curls twisting wildly in the wind, and eyes sparked with an untamed power he’d never seen in him before.

“Enjolras, you have to stay away, you’ll burn!” He was getting panicked now, as the other boy drifted closer and closer towards him. “Enjolras! You can’t be here, you’re not a god!”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Enjolras, you’re going to melt if you don’t go now!” The sun was riding high in sky behind him, and he saw Enjolras’s eyes glint. 

“Just one kiss, Grantaire.”

“No!” He roars, blood thrumming in his ears. “Leave!” He yanked his reigns to veer away from him, but Enjolras had other ideas. He grinned wickedly, coming closer and closer. There was still a gleam in his eye as they came closer together, but the first drop of wax had already begun to melt. 

“Enjolras, _no_!” he shouts, and it’s then that the first feather is whipped away. After that, they fall like rain from a cloud, and Grantaire has never forgotten the moment that Enjolras’s eyes widened as gravity began to take hold. 

Desperately, Grantaire reaches out to grab him and their hands brush once before he’s being yanked out of his grip. 

Grantaire screams, and Enjolras smiles. 

Enjolras welcomes the sun's hand in his because he's touched the sun in all its glory. The cry that is ripped from Grantaire’s throat resounds across the sky, fearful, pained, and desperate but Enjolras doesn't care because he's finally touched the sun and he doesn't care that he's falling.

His body hits the wave with a crack as loud as a crashing comet. The current swallows him whole almost instantly, dragging him deeper than Grantaire’s rays can ever hope to reach. 

~*~

Here is what the legend has failed to tell you;

Enjolras was smiling as he fell. 

The sun is cynical and the sun is bright and Enjolras is falling but he finds he doesn't care because the sun is even more beautiful in the sky.

He falls he falls he falls. 

He falls in love, in hope, in freedom. He can’t bring himself to feel repentant when his body hits the crashing waves that rise up to meet him.

~*~

When he falls, Enjolras does not mind. His heart is not heavy and he doesn’t ache with a longing of things that were not, or could have been, or should have been. 

Enjolras was never anyone, but to Grantaire he was the world, and that’s all the really matters.  
The only thing he minds is the grief that spirals out of Grantaire, the thunder in his cries and the hurricane that storms through his heart. 

He wants to tell him not to worry, that he is happy and Grantaire has no need for sadness, but words escape him as sea water fills his mouth. 

~*~

Enjolras was a mere human, but to Grantaire he was an explosion of true heart’s desire. He shakes with grief and anger and envy as he tries to tear the world in two for a heart that does not beat, will never beat again. He curses himself, damns his folly, asks himself _why_ , why did he fall in love with someone so fragile, someone who made bleeding seem beautiful and humans seem like anything but trouble.

He receives no answer, just an echo of his sobs.

~*~

Eponine visits him in his palace chamber when it happens. 

“Grantaire, where is it?” she asks, panicked. “Grantaire, where have you put your sun?”

“I promised him death,” he whispers as he stares at the ichor running down his arms. “But I cannot die, so I gave him the sun instead.”

“Grantaire, please, where is it?” She grabs his clammy face in her cool hands and tries to focus him, but his eyes are worlds away. 

“At the end of the earth,” he replies. “It has drowned in the horizon, shines on a barren place where no man may see it.”

“They have no light now, Grantaire,” She says gently but rushed, kneeling down infront of him. “I have offered my moon but it does little good for them. They are unused to such darkness without your sun.”

“Let them be lost,” he spits. “They know nothing of pain. Let them learn the pain of destruction and resurrection, and then let them never again take for granted their sun rise. So I will give them sun set, and they will never forget their own inevitable end.”

She strokes his sweat-dampened hair and examines his ichor-stained wrists. “You truly loved him.”

“More than all the sun and stars,” he replies, voice breaking. 

“Then perhaps this pain was worth it.”

“It was never worth him.”

~*~

Grantaire doesn’t move from his bed for weeks. Eponine stays with him, feeds him nectar and ambrosia and raises the moon in a time the humans are now calling ‘night’. Silently, he thanks the other gods for their understanding. Cloudy, grey days so he does not have to see his sun, forceful gales and thunderous storms, as if they understand the pain that was now inhabiting his every fibre. The violent sea was whipped up into a frenzy-- either in seeking revenge, or a frantic reminder of _‘I’m here, I’m here, I have not gone far.’_ Grantaire has no time to dwell on it, as fresh darkness saves him from the gaudy light of day. 

~*~

Some time later, Eponine walks into his room with a gentle knock and a tentative look on her face.

“What?” He croaks, his voice rough from disuse, having not spoken a word save for crying. 

“Grantaire, Poseidon has sent for you,” She says gently, coming over to the bed. “Grantaire, do you know what this means? You can see him. But you must swear not to take his body from Poseidon’s grasp, and only for five minutes.”

Those words are enough to unfurl him from the ball in which he lay for all those weeks previous. He assess her, searches her face in a way only a brother would know how to do. “You don’t want me to.”

Eponine hesitates. “He filled parts of you that were yours alone to fill.”

“And?”

“And… should you see him, like this… It could open those wounds anew. You might never feel whole again.”

He lets out a brittle laugh. “I never felt whole before him, and I will never feel whole after him.”

“So you’ll see him?”

“If I don’t, I will spend every day more waiting for him to come back.”

~*~

Grantaire feels heavy as lead as he’s led through Poseidon’s kingdom, a weight upon his chest threatening to drown him with every step he takes. 

With a nod and a remorseful smile, Poseidon leaves him, with no further instruction other than his finger pointed North. Grantaire thanks him and follows his direction, each second that ticks by filling him with dread. 

When he finally sees him, the weight comes crashing down on top of him and his heart breaks anew as he collapses beside his Enjolras. He screams his lungs raw into the vast, unforgiving ocean, and sobs as he clutches his lifeless body. 

He knows logically that this is not _Enjolras_ , that his soul is someplace else now, past the Styx, and all that’s left is its shell. But when his blue eyes are still gazing up at Grantaire, relentlessly, and it’s a type of torture he never knew was possible. 

His blonde hair is dampened dark, his face is peaceful that he might almost be sleeping. But if you were to look down you would see the scorch marks on his arms, where wax, feather and skin melted into one, and you would know this boy did not die a peaceful death.

“I _ruined_ you,” he rasps, his voice ragged when he finally composes himself enough.

He can almost imagine Enjolras shaking his head, tracing a finger down Grantaire’s cheekbones. “You cannot ruin ruination.”

“Know that I loved you,” Grantaire says softly as he runs a hand, combing gently through Enjolras’s blood matted curls. “I’m sorry it can never be enough.”

~*~

Eventually, Eponine retrieves him and he presses a final kiss to Enjolras’s temple before departing. 

And eventually, the sun returns every morning at dawn. But never again will it shine without end-- No, Grantaire could not bear the weight of that. He extinguishes the sun every night, and relights it every morning. In the time in between, when Eponine’s moon is high in the sky, he builds himself back up. 

Enjolras is remembered, by the humans, and so is Grantaire. Enjolras becomes a staple, a reminder that the sky is too small for godly dreams. He would have never been able to keep him on earth, so Grantaire takes some comfort in keeping him in legend. 

He knows that Combeferre never forgives him, fully. That whenever he looks at the sky or feels the sun on his skin it will always serve as kindling for resentment.

He knows that as the story gets passed down, his love becomes contorted to hate, of a god that had no time for human beliefs, and banished him from his sky. 

But he knows that when he walks on the earth, feels its soil beneath his feet he becomes _anchored_. He becomes one in the same with Enjolras in those moments, breathes in time with memories that flood his system. He nearly cried, the first time he was gifted with a crystal clear mental picture of Enjolras, finally starting to remember him instead of feeling the agony left behind.

As time passes, the landscape changes as humans become too clever for his own good, but the memories never fade, and for that Grantaire is grateful. 

One day, millennia later, Grantaire is winding his way through a place the humans are now calling Paris. The towns are morphing into cities, buildings are getting higher and people are getting greedier. It’s a cloudy day today, he has sent his sun to the far corners of the earth, far from here. He’s debating the merits of taking a few days off to make way for rainfall, when he’s lured to the people’s square by raised voices and chants. 

It’s some sort of protest- the humans have long forgotten the gods, and no longer want their kings. 

And then he sees-

Golden hair

Deep blue eyes

Standing on a makeshift barricade of empty crates, poised to jump, fly, fall

Radiating light and hope and life-

 _Him_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Please leave kudos/comments telling me what you thought!
> 
>  
> 
> [ come cry with me on tumblr](http://war-boyfriends.tumblr.com/)


End file.
